


And I laid you to rest (just to feel the give and take)

by aquilasaurus



Series: Like Your Heart Could Break In Two: A Hacksqueak Story [2]
Category: The Worst Witch (TV 2017)
Genre: F/F, Fantasizing, Fluff, Masturbation, Not all that fluffy come to think of it, Polyamory, Porn with Feelings, in which Hecate's imagination runs away from her
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-29
Updated: 2018-12-29
Packaged: 2019-09-29 22:32:52
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 641
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17212073
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/aquilasaurus/pseuds/aquilasaurus
Summary: Hecate has an evening to herself. Ficlet.Day 29 of the Winter Fluff Event: Absence.





	And I laid you to rest (just to feel the give and take)

Hecate had been blessed with an evening to herself. Ada was away on business overnight, and with the end of term, the castle seemed hushed. She had no rounds, no marking, and no interruptions.

Hecate Hardbroom knew just how to take full advantage of privacy.

She drew herself a bath, lit candles, and plucked out a well-loved text with a black cover. She scanned the shelf for her favourite topical potion, known to cause skin tingling of a most pleasant variety. It was, of course, her own recipe.

As she settled against the pillows, she closed her eyes, dipping her fingers into the bottle. She drew lightly, tracing aimless paths over her skin: the valley beneath her ribs, the gentle slope of her hips, the softness of her belly. She thought of Ada’s softness, of removing her fuzzy jumper and guiding her down onto her back. She loved the feeling of Ada’s skin beneath her hands.

Her fingers ventured lower, between her thighs, running through her dark curls and spreading herself open with a few experimental strokes of her fingers. While the rest of her skin warmed gradually, this, her most sensitive flesh, reacted immediately and explosively to the potion, which generated heat, and swelling, and wetness, and a small pricking ache. She felt suddenly impatient. All in a rush, Hecate turned herself over and onto her knees, lodging a stiff pillow between them.

She lowered herself, using the pillow for friction and sweet broad pressure. This had not been her preferred method of self-stimulation in many years, but like riding a broomstick, the muscle memory flooded back to her. Without conscious direction, her chest opened up, her head falling back, mouth open and eyes shut, as she rocked back and forth against the pillow. She imagined pink lips beneath her, taking her in, pliant and sweet and so eager. She imagined a pink tongue working her over and began to lose herself in the rhythm. She allowed herself a sigh.

Then, as if a switch had flipped, her fantasy took a sharp turn. This registered to her, dimly, as highly irregular, but nevertheless she followed its beckoning. The voice in her mind's ear rose and fell, chanting, humming against her, sending pink vibrations through her core. They tore through her, and she floated away with them. Suddenly frantic, she bit her lip and pressed down harder, seeing her face, almost able to hear her. Her gut pulsed with a pang of recognition: this was exactly what she had done, alone in her dormitory, all those years ago.

The afternoon in the corridor had charted a new course in Hecate’s consciousness. She did have the nagging sense that allowing it to fester would lead nowhere good, but it _felt_ so good, conjuring up every detail, that she carried on. In fact, she threw herself into it: warm brown eyes swimming before her, the tongue she used to stick out in teasing protest, the hands she knew so well, her face in concentration. Her chest felt hot. She could almost feel Pippa’s fingers digging into her flesh, egging her on, and she pitched forward, relishing every second. Hecate’s hard thrusts against the pillow grew erratic as she allowed her fantasy to sink its claws into her.

It came upon her quickly, before she even registered that her breath had gone ragged. Her mind was foggy, cluttered, driven by need.

Under her breath, Hecate felt compelled to murmur, “Fuck… Pippa, fuck, Pippa, fuck.” Shaking with the force of a gale, she collapsed against the pillow as her legs gave out beneath her. Still the tide rose in several more pulses, and she arched, wringing every ounce of pleasure from her body.

When the dust settled, the full implications of what she had just done struck her. She took several unsteady breaths.

 _Fuck_ , indeed.


End file.
